Dear Baby
by Teacup of JAG
Summary: Appreciation of our military fallen heroes, the sorrows, and the joys. Mac reflects on these issues, but she has some happy news for Harm.


**Dear Baby **

by Teacup

* * *

A/N: This was originally written for the HBX May 2009 challenge, using the lines, "Only when I look at you." "Or hear you speak."

The theme is related to Memorial Day, so I figured that I would post today.

It's a serious story, but is also fairly happy and playful by the end. Assume that Mac and Harm got together earlier than they did on the show - so the Mattie story-line didn't happen.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie-Rabb stared at her dress uniform, freshly placed back on the hanger and ready to retake its place amongst the rest of the military wear in the closet. Absently running her fingers over the ribbons and medals, she couldn't help but wonder, given where she had been earlier that day, if it was all worthwhile.

She'd been to military funerals before – always such a bittersweet mixture of grief and honor, of sadness and pride.

But there was rarely something to make up for the sense of loss. The solemn firing of three rifle volleys and a bugle playing taps just didn't cut it. A folded flag to take home would never replace a living, breathing loved one and the wonderful possibilities of the life that was tragically cut short, of the future that would never be.

Her eyes welled up with tears, not for the first time that day, but she pushed herself to focus on the task at hand. She managed to hang up her uniform and to dress herself in some sweats – her comfort clothes. Without really planning it, she found herself curled up on the couch in the living room, hugging a pillow to her chest. What was she doing?

She knew the answer. She was waiting. … Waiting for her husband to come home, to put his arms around her, and to tell her that everything was going to be okay. She needed that more than anything.

Her thoughts drifted to earlier that day … staring at a flag-covered coffin amongst the sea of tombstones at Arlington Cemetery. There was a large turn-out of people. There always was when the person whose life had been prematurely taken in battle had called a local city home.

Whether it really was or not, the sky had seemed grey and overcast to her. Aside from the tears of some of those who had gathered, there was no rain, but she could have sworn that she heard thunder rumbling in the distance. An ominous sound making her recall many a war machine plowing through the sand, tearing through the sky, or crackling out with explosions.

She had valiantly remained stoic throughout much of the ceremony, but the speech had done her in. It was a tribute of sorts - thoughts expressed by a close friend of the deceased, a friend of the wife as well. … Correction - a friend to the widow as well.

The eulogist had written what he was to say ahead of time, so all he had to do was read the words, but even that proved to be difficult at times … when he became overwhelmed by emotion.

The speech was actually written in the form of a letter, … but it was not addressed to the deceased or to the many people who had gathered there in mourning. It was not even addressed to the widow.

The letter was written to the fallen hero's unborn child: a little boy still developing in his mother's womb.

Mac remembered with clarity parts of the speech. The baritone voice reaching out, resonating in her brain.

"He would want you to know that he was a man who dedicated his life to his country, to the Navy, … to his family. - All things that he considered to be greater than himself. … But he, _himself_, was among the _greatest_ of men.

"He dreamed of the day that he would hold you, his son. His eyes would light up whenever he spoke of how life was going to be once you were born. He was literally counting down the days to welcome you into this world.

"I remember this one time; he joked that you would be the first of many kids, that he wanted a really big family. Your mom shook her head and warned him that he'd better wait to make that statement until he learned just how big a handful even one child could be. Your father responded by putting his hand on your mother's stomach – over you, and saying that there was nothing he'd rather have his hands full with ... than his wife and his new baby, … though certain multimillion dollar Navy equipment might come in a close second."

There had been a few chuckles at that, before the air turned just a bit colder at the stark reality of the next words.

"… But your father won't be here to have his hands full with you. He won't even be here to feel you in his arms on the day you are born. He won't be here to see you take your first steps or hear you speak your first words. He won't … be here to … to teach you how to throw a fastball … or to give you advice on girls. … He won't be here to watch you grow into a man who is going to be every bit as brave and honorable as his father."

Mac had struggled not to cry, but with these words … it was too much. She had needed to wipe her cheek from the tears, one from each eye, that had spilled over as the reading of the letter had continued.

"But, while he may not be here physically, … he will always … _always_ be here … with you, … as a part of you."

There was more to the letter being read aloud that told of the heroics of the sailor who had died, not out on the sea, but on a desert roadside trying to help those injured by an IED. He had rushed in as a rescuer only to become a victim of a secondary assault of gunfire.

There were stories too about the man's family and friends; his dedication and loyalty; and, especially, the love he had for his wife.

It was with these thoughts that Sarah MacKenzie-Rabb was found by her husband when he entered their house that afternoon. His wife was curled up, almost in a ball. Several large areas on the front of her sweatshirt were soaked through with salty drops.

Mac was so completely absorbed in the outpouring of feelings, in releasing the emotions that she had been trying to keep under control all day, that she had not really even registered that her husband had come into the room.

"Hey," Harm softly broke her from her trance.

Surprised, Mac embarrassedly tried to wipe her face dry, but Harm kneeled in front of her with concern and stilled her hand so that he could cradle her cheek in his own palm and wipe away the tears with his thumb.

"Hey, what's going on?" he gently prodded.

She tried to smile at him through the tears. "Nothing. … Just today."

He cautiously nodded at her, trying to read the depth of her emotions.

"I'm okay," she insisted, sniffling. "You shouldn't be kneeling in those," she gestured at the pants of his dress uniform. "You'll get them wrinkled. Why don't you go change?" she suggested, falling into 'practical wife' mode in an automatic attempt to redirect his attention away from seeing her in such a weak state, despite her conflicting desire to just reach out for him and not let go.

Harm eyed her carefully and determined that she wanted a minute to try to compose herself. The damned, stubborn Marine in her had always hated to cry in front of him. In front of anybody.

He thought back to the funeral earlier that day. She had hidden it well, but he had noticed her surreptitiously clearing a few tears that had escaped her eyes during the reading of the eulogy letter. - As if there was any shame in losing that bit of control, given the circumstances.

Not that he could blame her though. He suffered from pride, too - from the need to hide the expression of certain emotions, even when they were eating him up inside. … And after all, in this instance, they barely knew the deceased, so tears seemed a bit hard to justify. But it was such a sad story, that one would have to have a heart of stone not to be moved, not to feel the heartache.

"Okay," he agreed to go get out of his dress uniform. He stood, but when he took a step towards the bedroom, he heard her small voice.

"Harm …"

He stopped and looked at her, but then, as no words came, he realized that she was not sure what she wanted to say, … except that her eyes were asking him to be with her.

"I'll be right back," he assured her.

A few minutes later he found her in the kitchen putting on some coffee.

"You need a caffeine boost?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

She leaned back into his embrace. "I just need you," she whispered.

"I need you, too," he answered back, kissing her on the top of her head.

After a long moment of silence, Harm heard her quietly ask, "Does it ever get any easier?"

He knew that she was referring to the funeral service.

"No," he answered. "And if it starts to feel easier, then we'll need to worry … that we're not human."

Mac turned around to hold her husband and to look him in the eyes. "Do you realize how lucky we are? How many times we've cheated death?"

"Yeah," was his simple answer, his face reflecting the appreciation of that fact, knowing that other people, as evidenced by the funeral that day, were not so fortunate.

Mac's eyes lowered and stared out at no spot in particular. "I keep thinking about his wife. … Especially with a baby on the way … How is she going to get through this? … I mean, when you get married in the military, you know that it's a possibility, but …"

"You don't think it will really happen to you," he finished.

She nodded.

"Come here." He led her back to the couch and sat down, drawing her close to his chest.

"What is this really about, huh?" he asked. "We've been to funerals before … of people we've known even better, and I've never seen you like this after any of them."

"I know." She sighed. "I don't know what's wrong with me. … I just … I don't know what I'd do if you … I mean if …"

Flustered, she took a few seconds and then restarted. "…That woman is less than four months away from giving birth to a child … and, just like that, her husband is gone – forever. … Now she's going to have to raise their son without … being able to share … everything, … all the moments, … the responsibilities, the challenges, … the joys, … everything that goes along with having a child, … with the one person who she should be sharing all that with."

Harm nodded, not having a good response. All he could do was try to soothe his wife with a comforting caress along her spine.

Mac continued to philosophize. "She's going to miss her husband every day, but it's going to be that much worse, … because she'll not only be feeling the loss of _her_ relationship with him, … but the loss of the relationship between father and son. She'll feel that loss for her son, and she'll feel it on behalf of her husband, too, who is going to be missing out on so much."

Harm momentarily stopped the gentle rubbing of his wife's back, as he admitted, "I haven't stopped thinking about that little baby boy who will never know his father." Ever since the funeral, his mind had been drifting back to his own childhood after that fateful Christmas that his father had gone missing.

"But you know, … the military," Harm pointed out, "… it's in our blood. It was in that sailor's blood to do what he was doing when he got killed. As much as we hate what the consequences can be, … it's part of who we are."

"Sometimes I think we're all crazy," Mac mumbled against Harm's chest.

"Probably," Harm chuckled slightly, before justifying, "But someone needs to do what we do. It's important service."

"I know," Mac somberly agreed, before sitting up. "I don't regret being in the Marines or you being in the Navy," she stated. "I've always been willing to sacrifice myself if it came to that, and I know that you have, too. … It's part of our duty.

"When I joined the Marines, I honestly didn't feel like I had much to lose. I was alone. I was worthless."

Harm started to protest, but Mac cut him off with a gesture. "I _felt _worthless," she clarified.

"My life didn't have meaning until I joined the Corps. And, although I might still have been lonely, … I could get by with just the Marines. … Only when I look at you, now," Mac tried to speak without her voice breaking, "I realize how much ... that's not true anymore, and how much …"

Her eyes glistened with moisture again; the words didn't come.

"We need each other," Harm said, not sure if he was finishing her thought or starting a new one.

He took her hand in his. "We've always been there for each other when it counts, even when it seemed like we were worlds apart … physically … or sometimes even emotionally. You and I are both strong, and, when it comes to getting through day by day, we can survive anything. That's not going to change."

"It already has," she insisted. "We're married, Harm. This isn't just about the possibility of losing a best friend anymore. … I don't want to be the woman sitting beside a casket, accepting a folded flag, knowing that you're not going to be there for me and our child, who you won't even get to meet!"

"Mac, … there are no guarantees in life. Even if we weren't in the military, some terrible accident could take either of us away at any time."

She stubbornly affirmed her stance. "I want you to be there on the day that our child is born."

"Well, maybe we'd better start the process of making one of those a priority, huh? My chances of being around are better the sooner that happens." Harm smiled at his wife, trying to get her to lighten up, but also making an honest suggestion. He was ready to become a father.

"Can I just put you in a protective bubble to make sure you stick around for awhile?" asked Mac, only half seriously, since she knew it was a completely unrealistic request.

"I'd want to put you in a protective bubble, too, especially since you'd be the one carrying our child," countered Harm, before expressing reality. "But you know we can't hide from the dangers of the world forever."

"Not forever. … But how about seven and a half months?"

"What?" asked Harm.

Mac's heart rate increased. She hadn't set out to reveal anything in this conversation, but now that she had, she repeated, "We need to stay safe for at least the next seven and a half months."

Before Harm could even process what she was saying, Mac amended, "But, see, that's not enough time either. Because we still need to be here after he or she is born. So, how do we make sure to stay safe for at least the next, … I don't know, … eighteen years and seven and a half months?"

"Wait, you're saying …?"

Mac slowed down to let Harm absorb the news. She nodded with a small smile. "Seven and a half months … until our child is born."

Harm was stunned. "You? … We … We're pregnant?" he asked with excitement.

"Unless you've been suffering from morning sickness in the middle of the afternoon, too, then I wouldn't say that 'we' are pregnant," Mac joked, feeling better at sharing the news and seeing his reaction. "But, yeah," she confirmed, "… 'we' are having a baby."

"Really? … Wow. … That's …" He didn't finish; he just hugged his wife enthusiastically.

"I'm sorry; I didn't want to tell you this way."

Harm pulled back a little and looked at her with confusion. He was still reeling and didn't understand why she'd be apologizing.

"I didn't want to tell you today," she explained. "Not with that news being tarnished by a funeral."

"It's not tarnished at all," he told her.

"It just doesn't seem right to be so happy on a day when there is such sadness," she said. "Today is about a fallen hero."

"That fallen hero would want us to be happy," Harm insisted. "When it comes down to it … isn't that what we are all fighting for? – To ensure the opportunities for others to live free and be happy? It's the good moments that make all the sacrifices worth it."

"I guess," she agreed unconvincingly.

"You know," Harm told her, shifting on the couch, "when I took that out-of-town couple back to the house after the funeral, I hung out for a few minutes. I was really surprised to hear the Lieutenant's widow telling people how grateful she is to be pregnant right now. She said that focusing on the baby is about the only thing that's getting her through this. She considers the baby to be her husband's last and best gift to her."

"I guess that's one way of looking at it," Mac acknowledged. "That they didn't miss out on the opportunity to create at least one child. That she will always have a part of her husband living in her baby boy."

"So, … about _our_ baby. You're really pregnant?" asked Harm, just wanting to hear it again. "We're really having a baby?"

Mac smiled. "I confirmed it this morning at the doctor's."

"That's where you went early today, and why we had to take separate cars to the funeral," he realized. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to get your hopes up in case I was wrong. But the doctor tells me I'm a month and a half along."

"Wow." Harm just couldn't get over this. "What do we do now? Is everything okay? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just suffering from some of the typical early pregnancy symptoms." She pulled at her wet sweatshirt. "Like crying very easily," she added.

"How's the baby?" asked Harm.

"Too early to tell much. But so far, so good," she assured him.

He hugged her close again. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Harm stroked her hair. "This is great, Mac! Really great."

Mac laughed. She didn't think she had ever seen Harm grinning so widely before.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Get you some water or anything?"

"Harm, I'm pregnant. I'm not an invalid."

"Right. Sorry." He looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm new at this."

"So am I," she reminded him. "But, if it makes you feel better, I'll let you know the next time I'm feeling nauseous."

"Whatever will make you feel better," he offered. Then he had a thought. "Hey, I know you said that you're the only one who's pregnant here, but I think this could explain the other day when I felt sick to my stomach. It could have been sympathy-morning sickness."

This statement caused Mac to laugh out loud. "Harm, that was from the hot dog you ate."

"Well, maybe," he admitted. Using it to his advantage, he continued, "But if it was the hot dog, then it just goes to show that food like that _is_ disgusting and unhealthy, which is why I normally don't eat meat."

"Your stomach just isn't strong enough to handle a good hot dog," Mac teased.

Pretending to be offended, he asked, "Are you calling me weak?"

"Never. You're very strong." She was patronizing him now.

"I'll show you strong," he said. He swooped her up in his arms and stood, but he got a back spasm and promptly had to put her down.

"Are you okay?" Mac asked with honest concern.

"Yeah, …" he rubbed the spot where the pain had shot through. "Just a muscle spasm."

Now sure that Harm wasn't seriously hurt, Mac was free to rib him. "Well, as long as it doesn't have anything to do with you being weak."

"You're heavier than I remember," he complained as he stretched the muscle out.

Mac's hands went to her hips. "Are you calling me fat?"

"No, not at all," said Harm with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "It must be junior in here already growing. I'm sure all the extra weight is the baby's."

"Uh-huh," she skeptically accepted.

Harm wrapped his arms around his wife. "I suppose you're going to corrupt our little guy with things like hot dogs and burgers while he's growing up, huh?"

"I don't know," Mac said theoretically, while she reached up and linked her hands behind her husband's neck, "maybe our little_ girl_ will be an almost-vegetarian, like her father."

"That would be okay, too." Harm smiled, remembering a conversation from a long time ago. "As long as he or she is healthy."

"And you stay healthy, too," Mac added, still not over the fears that had taken home in heart earlier that day.

"Hey, I'm not the only one in the military here," Harm pointed out. "And now that you've got our little one growing in you, I expect you to take extra care of yourself."

"Yes, sir," Mac lightly responded, making fun of his tone of authority.

"I'm serious," he insisted.

"I know."

"Good." He leaned down to kiss his wife soundly on the lips, and then took the time to really look at her, appreciating her beauty, despite the left-over tear-stains. "You're going to be a wonderful mother."

"And you'll make an excellent father."

Harm grinned again.

After a moment of thought, he said, "You know, I always imagined myself having a little boy with you, but you do know that I would love a little girl just as much, right?"

Mac nodded. "I bet a baby girl would have all six feet, four inches of you wrapped around her little finger."

"She would not," he denied the thought of him being reduced to mush like that. "I'm just saying that I'm not sexist."

"No, you're not," Mac agreed. "But I think that you would like to have a son to make up for some of that male bonding that you missed out on with your father."

"… I'm sure that father-daughter bonding could be fun, too," he said.

Mac laughed at the uncertainty in her husband's voice.

"What?" he asked, wondering what she found so funny.

"You. Going out of your way to not sound sexist."

"Hey, I've _always_ said, … I like girls." Suddenly, his face fell with concern. "Mac, were you serious about that protective bubble?"

"What?" The question surprised her. "Why?"

"Because if this baby _is_ a girl, I think we need to put her in one … until she's about thirty or so."

"Harm!"

"Just to keep the boys away."

Mac raised her eyebrows at him, as if to say, 'Are you serious?'

"Okay, we compromise," Harm relented. "No protective bubble, but her mommy teaches her how to seriously injure any guy who comes too close?"

"That's a given," Mac said.

"… And her daddy gets to point out to any boy that comes along that both he and her mommy own several firearms and that her daddy won't hesitate to use any of them."

"You are just being ridiculous now," said Mac. "What if we end up having a boy?"

Harm thought about that for a second. "Then I'm going to teach him to respect every girl like he respects his mother, … as if every one of them were a Marine - not to be messed with, a lawyer - not to be taken advantage of, and a woman with a good heart - who deserves to be loved."

Mac found that her eyes were watering again. "You definitely need to be around to raise this child, Harm, because, boy or girl, … this kid needs the lessons that you have to teach … and the love you have to give."

"Likewise, babe," he told his wife and then kissed her again, a deeper kiss this time, allowing each of them to convey just how much they loved the other.

When they finally parted, they gazed at each other for a long time.

"I have an idea," Harm suddenly said.

"You usually do after a kiss like that."

Harm uncharacteristically ignored her comment. "About making sure that, no matter what happens, we leave lessons … and our love … for our child. The speech at the funeral today being read as a letter to the son made me think about all those letter-tapes that Dad made for me. I listened to those things so much."

Harm pulled away from Mac and headed to the desk where they kept some stationary. "We should start a series of letters to our child so that he … _or she_ will be able to know our thoughts and feelings firsthand. And be able to hold on to them."

Mac hesitated. "Are you sure that writing a letter like that won't jinx us. You know, … as if we expect something to happen?"

Briefly ceasing his search for a decent piece of paper, Harm looked up at his wife. "I don't believe in bad luck. You know that. … Besides, have you ever advised a client to not make a will because it might mean that they'll die sooner?"

"No," Mac admitted.

"And, assuming that we are here for a long time to raise our family together, it would still be a nice thing to do. To have documented."

Mac agreed, and she joined her husband at the desk. Unlike Harm, who was struggling to find something acceptable to write on, Mac quickly located a box of stationery.

"Should we write separate letters?" she asked.

Harm sat down on the desk chair. "Maybe sometimes." He gently pulled Mac onto his lap. "But this first one, I think we should do the same way we made this baby. … Together."

With laughter in her voice, Mac jokingly dictated, "_Dear baby, your father is such a sap_."

"Ha." Harm countered with, "… _Dear baby, your mother is __so__ funny."_

Beyond 'Dear baby,' neither of those openings was used in the epistle that would end up to be the first of many in a series of letters. One of the themes that ran throughout the notes to their 'baby,' was how lucky they considered themselves to be. Lucky for so many reasons, but none greater than having each other. Especially knowing the sacrifices that military men and women, along with their families, make every day, … being together was not something that any of the Rabbs took for granted.


End file.
